


In 21st Century America We Write Essays

by thepinballer



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, B. I wouldn't feel comfortable writing LGBT characters in Russia, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Just to get that out of the way, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rating May Change, TAGGING SHIT IS SO DIFFICULT FOR THIS FANDOM, THESE NAMES ARE SO LONG, also they're in california, and i dont feel comfortable doing either of those things, because A. I do not live in Russia and know Nothing about Russia, because i would either have to ignore the homophobia/transphobia, if it ends up having angst i'll tag it, it follows (close to) the same plot but its, much lighter, not reeeally angsty, nothing more than in the musical lmao, now, or write it, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2018-10-25 15:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10766964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepinballer/pseuds/thepinballer
Summary: they're in high school and nobody's straight





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter is based off of 1 or more songs!

“Did you hear Andrei’s in  _ France?” _

 

“Does he even know French?”

 

Natasha smiles to herself as she hears the talk about Andrei. Sure, he hasn’t texted her yet or messaged her on, well, anything, despite having been in France since Friday, but she can’t suppress her massive crush on him. Her smile falters as she remembers the fact that his last text had been, ‘I’ll text you after I meet the host family!” and she feels her cousin’s hand instantly go rest on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. Sonya’s just too good for this world.

 

Both girls jump a bit when a hand comes down on their shared desk, resulting in a loud thump. Natasha looks up at Marya, who taps her finger against Natasha’s math homework. Sure, Marya’s a little scary, but she always helps keep the two on track. 

 

Study hall is filled with people, so it’s easy to get distracted, but Marya always makes sure Natasha and Sonya study up a little bit at the very least.

 

Anatole looks around the room, snorting as Mr. Bolkonsky sits at his desk, grumpily correcting papers. He instantly whips his phone out, pulling up Snapchat and taking as many selfies as he can. He stops to admire one of the photos. Damn. He’s hot.

 

Hélène laughs at her brother, tilting his head this way and that like some sort of bird. She leans back in her chair, winking at a nearby student, who simply blushes and turns her head.

 

“You’re such a slut,” Anatole’s ‘friend’ Dolokhov laughs.

 

“Feeling fierce today, are we?” Hélène shoots back. She turns back to look at the still-flustered girl, ignoring Mr. Bolkonsky’s crazy old muttering. Her name’s Mary, or something like that. Really, she’s quite plain, but every deserves attention.

  
Hélène observes the crowded classrooms, chairs sitting haphazardly at much too small desks. She grins at Leonid and Anna, making sure to throw a wink in Julia’s direction. As she looks around the room, she realizes that miraculously, only one person is missing. Pierre Bezukhov. He’s such a bewildered and awkward guy, but he’s rarely late. Not to school, the nerd. Hélène doesn’t like him much, but can’t stop herself from wondering, where the hell is Pierre?


	2. Pierre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pierre is late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dis short lol

“I can’t fucking live like this,” Pierre murmurs, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel of his car. Life is boring. Life is rude. Life is  _ vile.  _

 

Sure, people call him smart, kind, even exciting, but at heart, he’s an old man. He could’ve joined the exchange program. He could’ve gone off with Andrei, explored the streets of France, and been with his best friend. And yet, he stays shut up in his room, always studying and reading. Constantly distracting himself from real problems.

 

Perhaps he should go out and do things. Hélène does things. Ha. Like anybody wants to be like her. There’s always talk of doing things. Talk, talk, talk, but does anybody actually do anything? When people are young, Pierre supposes, they’re filled with idealistic beliefs, yet abandon them as soon as things get difficult, therefore things rarely are finished.

 

So many people are falling apart, ripping at the seam. Hair fading, skin flaking, teeth rotting, deteriorating from the inside out. He pities them, really. Though he doesn’t really pity anyone more than himself, but he supposes there might be someone out there more deserving of his pity. Not that he’ll find them.

  
Pierre supposes he’s awfully nihilistic for eighteen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmu @oversaturated-ocean on tumblr


	3. Moscow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's only the second half of the song because it was awkward with the first half

Natasha sits in her bed, staring at her phone, a frown resting on her face. Just as Sonya is about to ask what’s wrong, Natasha drops the phone and groans. “It’s not fair! Why can’t Andrei just be here? He’s the only one in the exchange program this year!” Right before Sonya can reassuringly pat her shoulder, Natasha’s already laying on her back, her arms stretched above her dramatically. “Nobody gets it!” she near yells, before taking a deep breath and calming down. “Yeah, they say they miss Andrei, but they don’t know him and  _ like  _ him like I do. I just… I just want to be with him. France, here, I don’t care, just with him!”

 

Sonya waits a beat before taking her chance to speak. And then the door flies open. “I have tomorrow all figured out, so I hope you two aren’t planning on doing anything!” comes Marya’s loud voice and she takes a seat on the bed next to the two girls. “There’s a pretty shop I think you’ll like, so you can have something better for the weather here, and then I reserved us a table at the best restaurant, none of the McDonald’s crap. Afterwards, I need to hit the craft store for some yarn- for knitting,- but there’s a bookstore next door if you want to find something there. Sound good?” she asks. Natasha smiles, and giggles when Marya pats her cheek. Sonya simply nods, a little overwhelmed with the sudden flood of information. She’s not quite used to someone so loud and fast-paced, and she’s fairly sure Marya favors Natasha, but she supposes she can get used to it. 

 

As Sonya retreats into herself, she ignores the chatter, until she realizes Marya is asking for their class schedules. She looks around for her bag, but Natasha has already handed hers over.

 

“Our classes are basically the same,” Natasha explains, “But Sonya has Ms. Peters for math, and I have-”

 

“Bolkonsky,” Marya cuts her off, scrunching her nose up. “He’s a douche. Rambles a lot. Once he actually gets to teaching, jot that shit down, because it won’t happen again anytime soon. He’s Andrei’s father, did you know that?” A flash of worry shoots across Natasha’s face, and Sonya likely would’ve laughed if she didn’t love her cousin so much. “Don’t worry, as long as his sister Mary likes you, you’re good.” Natasha gives a sigh of relief, and the two continue their conversation.

 

Sonya’s not sure if they notice when she starts to fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmu @oversaturated-ocean on tumblr dot fuck


	4. The Private and Intimate Life of the House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary reflects.

Mary stays quiet.

 

Her father is loud. You can hear him next door. Even the tea he carries everywhere doesn’t stop his hacking coughs, nor does it hold back his bitter remarks. His wrinkled, contorted face resembling those of long dead aristocrats. Respected by colleagues and students alike, he has been deemed a respectable educator of the highest intellect.

 

Mary thinks somebody must’ve had a big fucking laugh making her the TA for his classroom.

 

“Get the papers!” her father snaps, drawing Mary out of her thoughts. She simply nods and starts passing out some useless worksheet, keeping her head down, eyes only darting up to count the number of people at a table.

 

As soon as she’s done, she slips back behind the small desk in a secluded corner of the room, her hand immediately going to the cross resting on her collar. She watches her classmates talking amongst themselves, most of them smiling and laughing and just… enjoying themselves. She would just kill for some friends right about now, but who wants to be friends with a girl who’s always trapped inside, growing awkwarder day by day?

 

She stares holes into her father’s back. She wishes that were literal. She could hurt him.

 

No, no, she doesn’t, she can’t. He’s her father.

 

Her father is loud. He is cold. The few times she has had friends, he’s chased them away. Natalya Rostova is coming over to study after school. She doesn’t want her to be chased away.

 

Her father is loud. He is cold. He is forgetful. He loses his glasses, and he yells. Screams. Screeches. She always finds them. They’re always on his head, tucked in his shirt pocket, in his hand. They’re always there. 

 

She could hurt him.

 

She is disgusted.

 

Mary stays quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i,,, love mary,,,, to talk about mary (or anything in this series) hmu @oversaturated-ocean :,)


	5. Natasha & Bolkonskys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Mary don't think that they like each other.

“Hello.”   
  


“Hello!”

 

It’s quiet. It’s awkward. Mary has decided that she does  _ not  _ like Natasha.

 

As she pulls her geography book out, she can’t help but look over Natasha. She’s so… fashionable. A soft white sweater slips down just enough to expose her small, dark shoulders. It’s tucked prettily into a pastel pink skirt, the edge of which rests on her mid thigh. A small sliver of very soft-looking skin is exposed, before being covered up by pretty white socks. A pretty cloud of curls rests atop her head, held up by a pretty pink ribbon. A bright, happy smile rests on her face, her lips painted with the prettiest shade of pink. Mary can see why people fawn over her.

 

She can see why her brother fawns over her.

 

She’s disgusted.

 

Natasha clears her throat and smooths out her skirt. “It, uh, must be lonely here with Andrei in France!” she offers up, slightly wincing at her voice. Mary just smiles.

 

Natasha slides into a chair, watching as Mary flips through her book, looking for the assigned chapter. Natasha isn’t sure if she likes her. She’s a strange girl. She seems to curl into herself, shoulders tense, fingers fidgeting. A simple button-up is draped loosely over her frame, the top couple buttons left open, just enough so that a small patch of pale skin can be seen. Her hazel eyes fly from sentence to sentence. Natasha’s stomach is filled with something she feels can only be loathing. She lets her smile drop and she straightens out her back, clearing her throat once more.

 

The only noises in the room are those of pencil scratching against paper, and the quiet voices of the two girls quizzing each other.

 

Mary is the first to notice her father coming down the stairs. She inhales sharply and tenses up. Natasha looks over her shoulder to see what’s happening, only to gasp and turn back to Mary, covering her face. “Papa!” Mary hisses, glancing worriedly at Natasha. She feels that she shouldn’t care if Natasha is chased away or not, and yet…

 

“So this is Natasha?” her dad asks, the disgust evident in his voice. “I would have thought I raised you to know not to study with B students.” Mary wishes her father wasn’t such a mean old man. He looks back at Natasha, grunts, and leaves muttering.

 

“I-I should leave,” Natasha says as she stands up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. Mary jumps to grab her wrist.

 

“Please wait!” Mary exclaims, though it’s more of a question than an order, and she winces at the volume in her voice. She struggles to meet Natasha’s eyes. “Natalya, I-I… My brother. He really does like you, you know,” she says, her hand starting to fall from Natasha’s wrist.

 

Natasha tries to put on her strongest voice. “It’s quite unfortunate that he isn’t here,” she states, grabbing her bag and quickly making her way out the door, her footsteps hard and heavy.

 

She hopes Mary didn’t see the tears welling in her eyes.


	6. No One Else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha is in love. At least, she thinks she is.

Natasha remembers when she first met Andrei.

He was talking to his friends, a guitar resting in his lap, his voice loud and clear. His smile was bright, and simply the most beautiful thing Natasha had ever seen. Once he started playing guitar, Natasha’s heart just melted. She knew she was staring. She knew a couple of his friends noticed. And then he noticed, and he flashed such a kind, beautiful smile, and Natasha could’ve died happily at that moment.

God, does she love him.

Their first date was in the park. He was going to be leaving for France in a few days. The snow was soft, gently dusting their hair like powder. She had never quite understood what it meant for someone’s eyes to sparkle until that moment. Oh, did his eyes sparkle. And his smile! It felt new and exciting, and yet, they were as comfortable as old friends. They were alone, two angels filled with joy, holding hands, leaning on one another. An intimate love, only to be shared with each other.

That night, she couldn’t think of anything else. The way he looked at the world, the way he looked at her, the way he said her name… Everything was like a dream. A dream so good she couldn’t let herself fall asleep and be pulled away from it. She stared out her window at the bright moon and the falling snow, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Her heart was still fluttering, her face flushed and warm. She was so happy, it almost felt dangerous.

Even now, she’s sure no one else could make her feel this way. No one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw Great Comet on Thursday and mmMMMMM  
> Hmu @oversaturated-ocean OR @you-will-not-enter-my-house on Tumblr.hell


	7. The Opera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girls visit the opera.

“The opera!” Marya near yells as she steps out of the car, taking in a deep inhale of the night air. She gives the two listless girls a glare before grabbing their arms and slipping into a forced smile. “Stop mooning and moaning, we’ll miss the curtain!” Marya purrs at the younger girls, though her grip on their wrists is tight.

 

The two girls trail behind her, giving the usher small smiles. 

 

As soon as Natasha steps into the theatre, she is… enchanted, to say the least. She suddenly feels quite self-conscious in the crowd of beautiful women, all wearing beautiful and sparkling low-cut dresses, showing off soft shoulders and glittering necklaces. Painted faces smile down at her, perfume overcoming her senses. Beautiful chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and the theatre is filled with an ethereal aura. Before she gets too lost in her dream, she’s drawn back into reality when Sonya nudges her side.

 

“Tasha, smooth your dress out,” she murmurs, and Natasha’s face quickly heats up. Though it’s a simple comment, it’s as if the whole crowd turned to her, scolding her for the wrinkle in her dress. She runs her hands over her dress a couple times for good measure.

 

Natasha glances a glimpse of herself in a woman’s hand mirror, and allows herself a breath. She’s pretty, isn’t she? She hardly looks herself with sparkling jewels and perfected makeup, though she rather enjoys it. She almost fits in with all the fine ladies in the theatre! 

 

Yet, she still feels eyes. Eyes on hers arms, her neck, her shoulders. Eyes admiring her beauty, judging her posture. Eyes examining her, examining this stranger. Of course, she’s no stranger in though- the Rostovs are well known, and well respected. And yet she is still new! New to these jewels, new to this theatre, new to those eyes.

 

Sonya grabs her shoulder and points.

 

“Look, it’s Alexey! I didn’t know he was in town! You remember him, don’t you Tasha?” she asks, giving him a small wave.

 

In front of them, Marya snorts. “He’s changed. Ah, and look! Michael Kirilovich! I didn’t know it was possible to grow backwards.”

 

Natasha holds back a comment about how everyone is short to Marya, and instead decides to lose herself in the conversations around her. Talk for all the world to here, but it’s only noticed in the smallest circles. So much talk! Talk of engagements, divorces, births, deaths, and  _ good god, have you seen what Anna Mikhaylovna’s wearing? _

 

And talk of Natasha. The Rostova girls, back in town! And beautiful Natasha. Gorgeous, lovely, darling Natasha.

 

She has to pull herself out of it all, instead directing her attention back at Marya, who is looking at the entrance with wide eyes.

 

“My, would you look at that, Fedya Dolokhov! Walking around like he owns the place,” the older girl is saying, and she pauses to grab Natasha’s shoulder. “You know, he got in a big fight in the next town over during the summer- it was a whole ordeal! And now all the girls think he’s some sort of god! Ha!” Her laugh is more a bark, and she catches herself as her eyes travel to the girl besides him. “Hélène Kuragina. Quite the pretty thing, isn’t she? Stole her mother’s pearls for a night out, I suppose.” She looks away from Hélène and sniffs, and Natasha muses that she gossips worse than a golden girl before she picks up again, her voice turning to a sneer. “Look at them, holding hands. One would think she’s picked him up and has just forgotten to drop Pierre entirely!”

 

As Hélène comes more into view, Natasha is, naturally, entranced. Her pretty green dress sweeps across the floor, the rings on her on her fingers catching the same light that bounces off the pearls draped around her neck. She’s gesturing to Dolokhov, a smile on her face, when she looks Natasha in the eye. She whispers something to him, and Natasha feels her face burning.

 

Hélène walks through the crowd as if they were all air, stopping in front of the three girls.

 

Marya straightens up and clears her throat, smiling at Hélène. “Yelena, I didn’t know you liked the theatre. Where’s Pierre, hm? I know he’s a fan.” Her voice is steady, yet there’s an ice behind it- not that Natasha notices.

 

“Yes, Pierre! Oh, I miss him, he’s always so sweet! A little sad though, isn’t he?”

 

Hélène laughs, quick and sharp, and places a hand on Marya’s waist. “Quite. Don’t worry Marya, I’m he’s enjoying himself at home this evening,” she purrs, her fingertips dragging along Marya’s hips. “I’ll get him to hang out, if you want. Really, all you have to do is ask.” She not-so-subtly lets her eyes wander- even Natasha notices, for God’s sake- before disappearing back into the crowd. 

 

Marya rolls her eyes and looks at Natasha. “Stay away from her,” she says before pulling the girls through the crowd to their seats, not caring to explain her meaning.

 

Natasha carefully places herself into her seat, smoothing out her dress once more. Of course, Marya has her hand on her shoulder is a second, informing her of the show’s beginning. A hush befalls the large coward, which has just been buzzing with energy and champagne and conversation mere seconds ago. All attention is turned away from talk, jewels, and drink, and brought to the stage as the lights dim and the curtain rises.

 

Natasha’s can’t quite follow the opera, though she is amazed but what she sees. Something about lovers, forbidden from being together. Everyone in the crowd seems caught up in it all, gasping at all the right moments, cheering on the actors. Actors. That’s all they are, just actors prancing around on stage like show dogs with painted faces! She doesn’t quite understand why the crowd cheers so loudly and smiles so widely- it’s so obviously just a play. And yet, it still manages to draw her in. She finds herself gasping with the crowd. She finds the urge to jump onto stage, dancing and twirling and  _ screaming _ with the actors. It’s nonsense of course, but is it anymore nonsense than this shameful display? It’s all ridiculous, simply a facade, all just-

 

A door hits the wall. An actor flinches, and continues. The audience turns. It’s as if a chill runs through the theatre and the spotlights all turn to face the figure in the door. A beautiful figure, standing in the doorway like a peacock on display. Natasha leans over the side of the box to get a better view of this… this god!

 

All heads turn to follow him as he moves down the aisle, and he clearly knows it, holding his head high and proud. Natasha can make out his beautiful platinum hair, held perfectly in shape, yet still so soft looking. He smiles at the people around him, throwing a wink out here and there. He stops at the first row, making sure everyone sees him, and presses a kiss against Hélène’s cheek, and another against Dolokhov’s. Before he sits down, he lifts his head up, looking Natasha directly in the eyes. She squeaks softly and quickly sitts back down in her chair. 

 

The first act ends minutes later- though Natasha is hardly paying attention. Yes, her heart is pounding, but it’s not from the play. It’s from those pretty blue eyes, staring up at her. That beautiful half-smile. She peeks over the edge of the box, only to find him whispering to his companions. He’s not looking, so she dares to lean a little farther over and-  _ oh god he’s looking at her again, oh fuck, oh he was talking about her, fuck! _

 

She freezes where she is, and even as the lights flicker and start to dim once more, his eyes remain on her. She laughs her hand up in a little wave, though Marya quickly grabs it and tugs her back into her seat. “Pay  _ attention _ , darling.”

 

There is a moment where Natasha attempts to focus. There are old tombs and a sick parody of the moon shining bright. There are actors shrouded in black cloaks with sparkling daggers and sick looks and jealousies and perfect blonde hair and gorgeous blue eyes and he’s so pretty, isn’t he? It’s almost a game, the two of them, throwing looks back and forth. Before she notices, the show is over, and the crowd is overcome with excitement. Everyone standing and cheering and clapping and  _ screaming  _ “Bravo!” Even Sonya joins in! As the cheers diminish into conversation, Marya quickly slips out of the box, to ‘talk to a friend,’ as she puts it, and moments later, Sonya follows. Natasha is a lone, sinking into the red cushion behind her, trying to calm herself, trying to remember where she is. The door opens, probably Sonya back from following Marya.

 

And then Anatole Kuragin sits next to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY updating this! sorry for keeping anyone waiting! hmu at officialmarya-d on tumblr!


	8. Natasha and Anatole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha and Anatole meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah. here he is. the motherfucker.

“Natasha, isn’t it? I haven’t seen you since elementary school- haven’t been able to get you out of my mind ever since,” Anatole purrs, letting his hand rest on the chair arm between them. He vaguely gestures at the stage, laughing, “You know, last week one of the actresses fell down on stage!”

 

Oh god, he’s so witty. How can Natasha handle such beauty? His soft pink-tinted smile rests among sharp features, highlighted in all the right places. She catches the way his powder blue eyes flicker down before he continues.

 

“You know, Natasha, you should come to the dance with me,” he says, his hand sliding down the side of the chair to rest by Natasha’s leg. She hardly can utter a sound before he grabs her hand and carries on with his asking. “Please, Natasha, come to the dance.”

 

“I…” Natasha trails off, unsure of what she was going to say in the first place. She can feel his eyes watching her, staring at her arms, her shoulder, her neck! She would be a fool to think that he wasn’t absolutely enraptured by her. She lets her eyes wander herself, admiring his silver silk suit, tailored perfectly to his slim figure. The moment she looks up, their eyes lock, and she inhales sharply, suddenly overwhelmed by the flood of perfume in the theatre.

 

There’s a look in his eyes. An immodest and hungry look. The look of someone who would have no trouble wrapping his arms around her and kissing her neck. Natasha is filled with fear and curiosity. Andrei never looked at her like this- no one has. She’s not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. 

 

“How do you like the city?” she asks, wincing at her voice.

 

Anatole smiles, idly playing with her hand. “Well, at first , I wasn’t a fan. You know, what makes a town pleasant,  _ ce sont les jolies femmes _ , hm?” he laughs, and Natasha simply nods. “But now,” he pauses, glancing over Natasha once more, “I like it. A lot.” There’s a second of pause, and Natasha reaches to pick it up, but Anatole instantly snaps back into begging. “Come, Natasha, come to the dance with me. You’ll be the prettiest there- though, I suppose that’s nothing new to you. Come, dear Natasha, please and give me-” he stops, struggling for words for the first time, furrowing his brow. This is quickly over when his eyes light up and in a moment, the flower tucked behind Natasha’s ear is in his hand. “Give me this flower as a pledge!” Natasha looks between the flower and Anatole. God, he’s practically leaning into her lap. She’s unsure if her warmth is from herself or from him. “We are speaking of most ordinary things, you know.”

 

Natasha supposes that she does know this is just a simple conversation. There’s nothing perverse about it, and yet she feels almost ashamed of talking like this in public! She finds herself staring into his pretty blue eyes, and, being completely lost, she lets a single thought slip.

 

“No one else is here.”

 

A smug smile crosses his face and he holds onto Natasha’s hand tightly, letting his other hand come up to rest on her cheek. “It’s alright Natasha, I’m here,” he says, his voice soft and low. He’s so near, she could lean forward, just a little bit, and kiss him. She feels her heart sink as he starts to stand up, her hand slipping from his. “Smile for me darling,” he purrs, his thumb lightly dragging across her cheek as he stands.

 

And in a moment, he’s gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UH hmu @officialmarya-d on tumblr dot hell

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up @oversaturated-ocean on tumblr to talk about this or other things too!


End file.
